Gregor and the Fate of the Underland
by skiaholic
Summary: Gregor finds himself again a mile below New York City fighting in the Underlands war, but unlikely allies and unlikely enemies throw a twist in Gregor's theology. Now it's Gregors choice, for the future of the Underland, to distinguish what is right and what is wrong.


**IM BACK! So my first Fanfic was kind of a fail, so i hope this would pleases the masses a little better. I just want to shout out to Suzanne Collins for writing the best series of all time, and additionally state that she has the rights and honors to all the characters she's created. **

It was a dark night in Regalia. Every night is a dark night, even days are dark in the Underland, but tonight especially seemed uncannily dark. Quickpaw didn't mind, in fact she was blessed for the lack of illumination which allowed her to creep even better unseen through the streets of Regalia. She walked briskly, but slow enough to appear not to be rushed, she didn't want to draw attention to herself. She was paranoid, she needed to get out, she knew what _they _didn't want her to know. A fugitive of the city, enemy of the state for merely knowing classified information. But she knew of someone who needed to know what she knew.

A flicker out of her peripherals stopped her heart as she froze behind a pillar near the street side, she dared not to even breath, not to even blink. After about a minute of standing petrified, her ears assured her nothing was moving about, and her nose double-checked that she was alone. Turning her head, she saw what tricked her was her own shadow, cast against the opposing street wall by the flickering torch by her side. Quickpaw let out the longest sigh as her tensed muscles relaxed, quivering from the adrenaline overdose as she tried to regain her composure. But the sound of footsteps in the distance reminded her that she was still in danger, and it was only a matter of time until they found her in the city, and an even shorter time after that until she'd be dead.

Quickpaw had been living in the city of Regalia since the war, one of the first immigrants of rats as Underland populations diversified and other species became accepted behind these human walls. She knew the city well, being a servant to the high hall, and had used her residential time to become acquaintance to every street and every alley the city had to offer. And now her time of snooping around was beginning to pay off, she had to get off the main streets that were regularly patrolled and make way through the small alleys. Made for humans, both sides of her belly scraped the walls as she made her way through. There was no way out of the city other than through the main gate. There had previously been other ways but since the war, fortifications have been increased several fold making the walls higher and thicker, and limiting traffic to one main gate.

She had to get back onto the main street and risk the chance of interrogation in order to escape. But the smell of that ungodly stench of the human drink called alcohol caught her nose, and her stomach dropped as she remembered the around-the-clock guard newly instated at the gate. Peeking around the corner of a street side fish stand, which was boarded up for the night, she saw four guards stationed at the door. Three of which were huddled in a circle, throwing dice and the ground and making a ruckus, the fourth of which sat slumped in a chair with his helmet over his head. On the ground laid two empty bottles of which the putrid smell originated from meaning the men had been affected. This was the only way, and whether by force or wit, she had to make it out of that gate.

She closed her eyes and took three deep breaths, playing over what exactly her speech was going to be for leaving the city at an hour like this. Quickpaw gently got up and began to walk to the gate, head down and avoiding conversation unless confronted. Of course, the guards intoxicated or not weren't just going to let a half-ton gnawer stroll by unnoticed.

"Hey you" One said who was playing the game of dice, "Nobody goes through this gate after hours." He said as he stumbled into the way of Quickpaw.

"Hmm oh my goodness, I must of missed the message. But I really do need to leave, I've a litter of pups and a mate waiting for my return and its dire that I meet them tonight."

"I'm sorry ma'am but that will have to wait until morning when inspection team arrives"

"Hey, did you say you have a mate and pups outside the gate?" Another guard chimed in becoming aware of the conversation at the gate. "Why would you have a mate outside the city while you're inside? He isn't a fugitive is he?"

Since the war, a hunt had been going on to find all the gnawers that had been in alliance with or aided Bane in the war. It was a wild and crazy mission, there was no way of differentiating who was with and who was against Bane, and many innocent gnawers had been slaughtered by the humans. In the last six months, things had slowed down in the hunt for fugitives, but the fear that they existed amongst us was present all the same.

"Goodness no!" Quickpaw began backtracking, "Snarlsnout is his name, look him up in your indexes, he is a free and honest gnawer, a warrior at your side during the war!"

The talk of fugitives now had all the other guards interested as they circled around Quick paw, eyes searching her for any contraband items she was smuggling out of the city. But the only contraband she had was in her head and her past. Bounties had even been placed on fugitive gnawers since the search had become some tedious, an ounce of gold pieces and half a years worth of food was at stake, an opportunity these guards weren't going to let walk by.

"What is that!" One guard from behind screamed pointing at her, all three guards seizing their hilts as they prepared to capture her. There really wasn't anything, it's very hard for gnawers to hide stuff in their fur, these humans were just suspicious, drunk, and begging for a shot at excitement.

If excitement they want, excitement they will have. Quickpaw had been in a number of fights and scrambles before. Even though she was outnumbered, they were drunk and clumsy, and easy to trick. Her tail lashed out behind her as she heard the guard approaching, slapping against the guards shoulder she heard a pop and a scream, followed by a clatter as his sword fell to the ground. The guard who originally stopped her ran forward and thrust his sword forward double-handed. This powerful stroke grazed her belly as she attempted to dodge it, but left him vulnerable as an uppercut from her paw found his soft belly and lifted him off his feet. He fell to the ground in a moaning heap, but she grabbed his leg in her jaw and swung him in an arch over her head to crush the soldier who charged her from behind.

The third guard watching his friends be defeated watched petrified, wide-eyed, and incapable. Quickpaw turned to face him, snarling and bloodlusted, she licked the blood from her snout and wiped by blood from her claws onto her fur. Deep red blood. His friends leaked it, she craved it. The frozen soldier stood shivering with fear, and as Quickpaw approached him, she spun in a complete circle, whipping her tail which met with his neck in a satisfying crack. She then dragged him onto the pile of bodies, the three guards now more or less dead. Finding a third bottle of the alcohol she despised so, she doused the pile of bodies with it, pushing the three outside of the gate so as not to be seen and attract interest. She lit them on fire.

"Wait a minute." Quickpaw thought. There were four guards, not three. Tip-toeing back inside she saw the chair of the snoozing guard empty.

Quickpaw began to run. Run like the river, run like the wind, run as if she saw the devil himself chasing after her. She cared no more for stealth, her claws racked loudly against the stone-dirt mixture of the Underland floor, she didn't know where to run too, but she had to run. And run she did, until she was out of breath, and then she ran some more until she was a quivering pile of muscle with a guilty conscious. She didn't want to kill the soldiers, honestly she loved the humans for the majestic city they built and opportunity they had given her to live. But ever since the war, ever since the change in government and new ways of ruling she had been scared for her own life. Vikus had died and a new king had been selected. Not Luxa, she liked Luxa and wished she would've been queen. Luxa thanked Quickpaw when she would fill her bath, she smiled when they passed in the High Hall corridors, but mostly Luxa accepted gnawers into the city when others spat in their paths wished to banish them to parts of the Underland unknown to most.

No, a new king had been elected and a cruel one at that. Quickpaw didn't even know his name, it was so recently ago that no major orders had been set under his name. All that she knew was that she didn't like him, and he didn't like her. Quickpaws mother always told her to stay out of politics, it was a bloody game where sometimes you couldn't differentiate your own blood from the blood of others. But here she was: outcasted, criminal, and probably being hunted, all because of politics. Quickpaw began to cry, and it was her tears that coaxed her to sleep.

* * *

It was the sound of wings that woke Quickpaw up, at first she nonchalantly blew off the thought of fliers thinking she was safe asleep in Regalia, but as she remembered last night, she snapped awake and onto her paws. It was too late. _Thump, thump, thump, _three armor clad fliers dropped on their feet, each with an equally clad warrior on their backs. Four more fliers and humans hovered above, swords drawn and circling the perimeter of Quickclaw. The fliers on the ground hopped around uneasily as they also circled her, keeping Quickclaw on a pivot and a battle ready stance. Then one rider dismounted, the leader obviously, and with a wave of his hand the other fliers and their bonds stopped and watched with interest.

He was a man, the leader and most elegantly dressed. Just a little over six foot, he was a head taller than Quickpaw when she was on all fours, but she stood on her hind legs crouched and ready to attack if provoked. His armor was completely black which matched the fur of his bat, but was also light and skimpy, made for protection during riding and the acrobatics of fighting. He stopped about ten feet away, just shy of Quickpaws striking range which she made note of, and they stared at eachother for a solid minute. He rested a hand on the hilt of a sword on his hip that nearly touched the ground at the tip, and removed his helmet with his other hand. It was the king.

Quickpaws eyes quickly glassed over the surrounding soldiers: armed, trained, and this time not intoxicated, she was outnumbered but wasn't going to go down without a fight. Her heartbeat raced as the realization dawned that she was probably going to die right here.

"Hello Quickpaw" but, Quickpaw remained speechless.

"You will talk whether you like it or not" The king said now drawing his sword threateningly, a smile creeping onto his face as he admires his reflection in the blade. "Now you know what I want, and I know what you know, so let's cut the innocence and cut to the chase. Who are you going to tell this too?"

Quickpaw continued her silence. Not that she didn't want to give him any information, but honestly even she didn't know what to do or whom to go to with this information.

It all happened yesterday. Quickpaw is one of the few gnawer servants at the palace; they try and keep a few of each Underland species on staff so leaders from each race can feel more comfortable in there long and common negotiating meetings that take place at Regalia. It's all Underland politics. But when Ripred or a gnawer ambassador isn't present at the palace, she finds herself doing other household maintenances. It was only yesterday when she was cleaning the royal chamber, innocent stuff, that she overheard a conversation meant to be private, "I don't care what the prophecy says, I didn't murder Vikus only to have a teenage boy overthrow me! I want every gnawer dead. I want every cutter shredded, every nibbler burned, and every revolutionary punished. It's us gentlemen, who are the Underland's future. And if that is to be so, this prophecy cannot leave this room." Quickpaw froze in confusion to what she just heard, whether just ramblings of a crazy man or the comings of a tyranny, she had to get out. On her way to the door there was a piece of parchment on the stone counter that caught her eye. Confused about what she just heard and seeking to revise her knowledge of the situation, she saw that it was a prophecy – The Prophecy of Fate.

Quickpaw has spent some time in the past learning of Regalian history, and how the human past has always been intertwined with prophecies by a man of Bartholomew Sandwhich. A crazy man, who locked himself in a room with nothing but a chisel, a room she's even spent time in, reading the words of a delusional visionary. But these were new words, yet definitely his style, when it became clear that this was not meant to be read by any other people, or even leave this room. It was then when the door that had muffled the previous screaming and ranting swung ajar, and she stood staring at an equally mystified king and conference of politicians. She regained her wits first and ran out the door of the room, and ran for her life. The king still stood jaw dropped at the scandal he had on his hands.

"If you wish not to talk, you will die. And if you do talk, you will die. Wont you please help your king out and tell me now. Where. Is. The. Warrior." The king brought Quickpaw back to reality with yet another question she couldn't answer.

Quickpaw continued her silence, distracted by the soldiers sudden deeper interest in her. After another minute of patiently waiting for an answer the king sighed, pivoted, and walked back to his bond. As if his turning was a que, the six bodyguards unleashed their anxiousness in a sudden relentless attack. Quickpaw lashed claw and tail but it was useless. She was outnumbered and out trained. Flyer talons ripped skin and aimed for eyes and ears as swords made easy work of slicing into her dying body. In a matter of minutes Quickpaw was an indistinguishable mass of fur and blood rolled in Underland soil.

The king returned to his flyer which purred softly as he stroked its course black fur. "Im sorry Ares, she wouldn't talk. Lets just hope she hasn't told anyone else." Ares nodded in agreement.

"Henry" one of the bodyguards approached from Quickpaws direction, "You have a scheduled meeting with Ripred this afternoon. I think it would be best not to be late."

"Awh yes, why thank you James." Henry replied, "Let's see how the peacemaker responds to my proposal."


End file.
